


Melting Steel

by Avrina



Series: A Slave's Fate [2]
Category: No Fandom, Original Work
Genre: Abuse, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Breaking Celibacy Vows, Brotherhood, Cock Cages, Collars, Dubious Consent, Enemies to Friends, Family, Femdom, Fictional Religion & Theology, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Master/Slave, Minor Character Death, Mistress, Non-Sexual Slavery, Past Rape/Non-con, Protective Older Brothers, Protective Siblings, Rough Sex, Sex, Sexual Abuse, Sexual Slavery, Sexual Violence, Siblings, Slavery, Slaves, Tinnitus, Unrequited Love, Work, illiterate
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-18 13:35:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29490678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Avrina/pseuds/Avrina
Summary: The only world Chris knows is that of the hot dirty steel mill with its relentless pace and violent overseers. He is persuaded to escape, which unsurprisingly ends in disaster - and suddenly his world is a lonely farm, where he is met with contempt and distrust.Only the man he himself would like to hate meets him with kindness, and then there are his new mistress, who wants to make him a better man, and his new master, who risks drowning in his own problems...
Relationships: Minor or Background Relationship(s), Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Series: A Slave's Fate [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2166111
Kudos: 5





	1. Bad Awakening

**Author's Note:**

> This is kind of the spin-off to part 1. Please be aware that this first chapter is more of a teaser and contains spoilers, since it takes place weeks later than the actual chapter of "A Slave for Two" (chapter 17).

A sudden, shrill whistle snapped him out of his doze. Even before he had blinked twice, the whistle had become a bright buzz in his left ear, while his right ear was practically deaf. He was disoriented by the dim shadows around him, and he winced hard when he received two swift bumps in the ribs. Then his brain was awake.  
_The shed._  
Max's warm breath brushed his cheek, probably whispering something to him, but he still heard nothing more than the buzzing. Instead, he recognized his surroundings more clearly now, and also Max, who put a finger to his lips. He nodded, but then tapped his ear and shook his head; Max knew about his hearing interruptions and nodded back.  
Whatever Max had heard made him nervous a few moments later. His lips moved in a silent curse, then he motioned for him to get up. But apparently it was too late to get out of this shed- which wasn't a shed, but rather a barn or workshop, looking at all the tools here- because the rumble and soft squeak of a roll-up door being opened popped the _bubble_ in his ears. He heard the chugging of a car and a car door slamming shut.  
"Thanks for the offer, but an early morning walk isn't bad at all," a woman said.  
"Whatever you say..." a man returned skeptically and then, apparently addressing someone third, called out: "Come in slowly!"  
Max tugged at his arm and he turned his head. Now that the lights had been turned on, it was clearly visible that they were in a workshop, presumably for cars or farm vehicles; after all, they had to be in the middle of nowhere here. Max held out a huge wrench to him.  
"Are you _nuts_?" he whispered tonelessly, while the woman in the background said:  
"A thorough check, that's all. It's a long way to Denser's Port, and I don't want to get stuck halfway there."  
"I can understand..." the man said slowly.  
"This is our chance, Chris," Max whispered back, weighing some kind of pliers in his hand. "A car is going to get us out of here!"  
"Dante, you stay here and help Matthew. I want you to learn something."  
"Yes, mistress." said a second man.  
"Do you know how to drive?", Chris wanted to know skeptically from his friend and Max nodded curtly, but not very convincingly.  
"I thought you used to be a chauffeur..." said the Matthew named man and Dante replied:  
"Being a chauffeur means _driving_ a car, not screwing on it. I'm upper class, after all." The second part sounded mockingly arrogant; Chris frowned uncertainly, but reached for the wrench.  
"Don't be so cocky." the woman gently admonished.  
"Yes, mistress." Dante replied cheerfully.  
"He's terribly ill-mannered." she sighed, and Matthew said, also strangely gently:  
"You're too soft-hearted."  
"Yes, that too..."  
It didn't seem all that serious, which worried Chris a little, but the woman said goodbye and the men pushed the roll-up door shut.

"What do you actually want in Denser's Port?"  
"I have no idea, honestly."  
"Not visiting Val, are you...?"  
"I doubt it. He provoked her, and I'll be damned if she doesn't know it."  
Chris looked at Max, who was clenching his jaw with grim determination, almost frightening him. At least, he thought, almost relieved, he hadn't lunged at the woman. Even if they hadn't heard what had happened to the two slaves who had shot a woman while trying to escape, they could imagine it, and Chris definitely didn't want to even slightly experience that kind of nightmare. And yet he was standing here now, not at the furnace.  
"...Blaise said one of the headlights is flickering," Dante just said and Chris rolled his shoulders; his neck and shoulders were tense.  
"Well, turn on the lights and we'll see," Matthew returned. A car door opened, something clicked and clacked, and the headlights shone through the cracks in the wooden partition Chris and Max were hiding behind. "Okay, it's really flickering on the left. Turn off the lights and pop up the hood."  
"Any plan?", Chris wanted to know quietly over a loud metallic clack.  
"We need food and other clothing."  
The light went out.  
"... check the glove box. Maybe Blaise has already bought a lamp."  
"Here? The woman can come back any time."  
"Chris..."  
"We don't even know where we are."  
"We have no choice."  
"Okay, found it," Dante said subdued.  
Max nodded encouragingly at Chris, and before he could protest further, Max stormed around the partition. Caught off guard, Chris hurried after him.  
A surprised yelp turned into a gasp, and he saw Max grab hold of one of the two men- presumably Matthew- in such a way that he choked him with the pliers.  
Dante, the other man, sat dumbfounded in the driver's seat of the little red car.  
"We're not going to hurt you." Max said contradictory harshly and Chris, not knowing what else to do, raised his wrench a little. "We don't want to hurt you, we just want food and-"  
"You're the ones who escaped from the steel mill." Dante's comment interrupted Max, who growled:  
"None of your business."  
"As long as you're threatening us, it's _very much_ my business," Dante returned coolly.  
Chris had a dull feeling that the situation could actually escalate at any moment.  
Matthew gasped, and Max must have let up a little, because he said strangely flat: "You can have food, that's not the problem, but-" He broke off choking, but the little spark of hope flaring up in Chris immediately went out again.  
"Matthew! What's the penalty for collaborating?"  
"Shut up!" The words sounded stifled enough that a little pity stirred in Chris. He was just standing around foolishly, he knew that, but Max had stressed often enough the last few days that they needed to be spontaneous- now Chris realized that spontaneity was probably not one of his strong points.  
"Get out!" Max hissed, addressing Dante and giving Chris a look under which he squirmed inwardly. He had no idea what to do, and slowly- to hide his indecision- he stepped closer to the open car door. "Get out!" Max repeated harshly.  
Chris moved a little closer and deeply regretted it when Dante suddenly stood up in an elegant-looking motion, pointing a gun at him.  
Matthew gave a gurgle.  
"Okay guys, nice and easy. You're going to drop your tools and fuck off," Dante said with a calmness from which Chris instinctively knew it was over. He trusted Max, sure, his comrade, friend and maybe more than that, but four years was enough to _know_ him. And unlike Chris, Max knew the world out here, outside the steel mill compound, and he would sacrifice anything to get back out there- Chris knew that, he didn't even blame him. But what he didn't know anymore after the grueling last few days, weeks even, was why he had actually gotten involved in escaping with Max, Jonas, Conrad and Joshua.  
And that's why he dropped the wrench, which clanged brightly on the concrete floor, bringing back the buzzing and humming in his ears. Numbness took possession of him, he was quite calm, indifferent, resigned to fate. He heard, as if from far away, Max hissing something, probably his name, but he shook his head weakly; he was not tired of living.  
Now Dante pointed the gun at Max, his words an unintelligible hiss in Chris' ears, and for a moment the world seemed to stand still before everything exploded.  
A strange bang reached him, Matthew elbowed Max in the ribs, and Max staggered as it banged again. Dante fired, Chris realized, while Matthew staggered to the side grabbing his throat and Max went down after a third shot.  
Suddenly there was such silence that Chris wondered if his hearing had now finally given up the ghost.  
"Ma-Max?" He heard himself, so that was good. "Max?" He stumbled a step in his direction.  
"Sorry...", Max mumbled and coughed. "It was a stupid idea..." He coughed again, turned his face a little and looked up at Chris.  
Chris looked back, into the dark eyes where the glowing-hot steel could sparkle so beautifully. He looked at the thin lips, with specks of blood stuck to them, which he had kissed shyly now and then.  
"Sorry...", Max murmured again, so softly that Chris could barely hear it.  
"Okay, my friend, now about you." Dante's voice caught his attention and he faced again the gun. "Get on your knees and put your hands on your head. I've got a few more bullets..."  
"No need..." His voice broke and purposefully slowly he knelt down on the dirty ground before putting his hands to the side of his head.  
"Very nice..."  
In the background, Matthew gave a rattle and cleared his throat.  
"You okay?"  
"Yeah, I think so..." he replied coarsely. Chris couldn't help but watch as he- carefully massaging his throat- slowly crouched down next to Max and felt for his pulse decidedly slowly. Then he looked up and Chris recoiled from his gaze, looking back at Dante, who suddenly looked very pale.  
" _Chris_... right?"  
Now Chris' gaze twitched back to Matthew though, who suddenly held the pliers Max had dropped in his hand and straightened his shoulders. "Right...", he confirmed quietly.  
"Sorry, Chris, but I'm not letting anybody threaten me on my own property."


	2. A bitter Welcome

The whistling in his ears stopped so suddenly that he sighed with relief.   
"He's waking up," someone remarked critically.   
"It's about time. Matthew hit too hard." a second voice hummed.  
"Not hard enough," growled a third man.   
Instead of the ringing in his ears, he was now getting a headache, a sharp pain boring through his skull. The men's voices continued to talk, apparently about him, and he suppressed a groan as he raised his hand to his head. Or rather, he wanted to, because not only was there something heavy around his wrist, it was pulling up on his other hand as well. Handcuffs...? An involuntary twitch went through his body, making him aware that on the one hand he was lying on a bed and was probably covered up, and on the other hand that his right foot was shackled to the bed frame.   
"I'll let Matthew know," one of the men said at this moment, and he blinked. The yellowish light didn't sting his eyes, but it still didn't help his headache. The figure passing him was strangely blurry. The tilted angle of vision did his orientation no good and he raised his head, propped himself up on one elbow, and nausea promptly rose in him.   
"You should stay down," someone said reservedly.   
"Let him. As long as he doesn't puke all over our floor..." grumbled another.   
"Do you want me to throw the meat in the pan or not?" still someone else wanted to know sullenly, and the thought of food made him gag dryly.   
"I guess the answer is _no_ ," someone said dryly.   
Two disgruntled grunts came back.   
He blinked again, swallowed, and looked around. A low basement with two supporting columns in the center, small windows up on the walls, and painted a pale green. The bed he was lying on was in one corner, on the other side of the large room was a kitchen of sorts, in between was a dining table with chairs, on one side was a couch with a TV, on one wall was a large shelf with all kinds of stuff. A handful of men were spread around the room, all dressed the same and with watchful eyes. This must have been the common room for the slaves of the... farm? He wasn't sure. He had stumbled through the darkness with Max practically blind, cursing the wooded area because of the uneven ground and at the same time grateful because the snow wasn't so high there and the drifting snow wasn't so thick.   
_Max._ Max was dead, right? This guy, this Dante guy, had shot him.  
The buzzing in his ears came back, so violently that he pressed his hands on them; the chain of the handcuffs was just long enough for that. He writhed, wanted to curl up, but the ankle cuff prevented him from doing so. There was an alarmed-sounding voice, but the words were only accompanying hums for the all-dominant buzzing. He closed his eyes, fighting the buzzing, the headache and the nausea all at once.   
Someone touched him on the shoulder and he jerked back violently, bumping his head against the wall and snapping his eyes open again.   
Matthew, the man Max had threatened, stood tensely before him. Since his mouth was moving, Chris assumed he was talking, though unable to hear him, he tapped his ears with trembling fingers and shook his head. Now a frown settled on Matthew's face and he half turned away; only now did Chris notice the older man standing next to Matthew, scowling.   
"I can't hear anything right now, sir." he said with a dry mouth; he was never sure if he hit the right volume in this state.   
Matthew looked to him again, eyed him critically. Now, without thick work clothes, Chris noticed that Matthew was not wearing a slave collar- for that matter, neither was the man next to him, who bore some resemblance and was probably related to him. Men without collars- were they free? Max and Conrad had told him that there were free men- freed for their services or actually even born free; Chris couldn't quite believe either.   
Matthew spoke to the other men- the slaves- and then it popped in Chris' ears. "... well, _great_." He ran his hand through his short black hair.   
"Sir?" Chris whispered cautiously.   
"Ah." Matthew turned back to him. "You said your name was Chris."   
"Yes, sir, Chris Steel." Now he did force himself into a sitting position and looked up at Matthew.   
"And your companion?"   
"Max. Max Steel."   
"How imaginative." someone scoffed.   
"Brothers in spirit." another mocked.   
"Hey, we all have the same last name, too," protested another.   
"Yeah, but we're not called bluntly _Farm_ or anything."   
"Dude, the Stones are called Stone too, even though they have nothing to do with rocks or stones."   
"Guys..." It was just a light admonishing tone, but they all listened to Matthew and fell silent. "So, _Chris Steel_... we got in touch with Miss Grayson."   
Chris had no idea who that was supposed to be, and watched as Matthew pulled a piece of paper from the breast pocket of his shirt and unfolded it.   
"But we still need to make sure you are who you say you are."  
The man next to him gave a strange growl and crossed his bulky arms in front of his chest.  
"When's your birthday?"   
Chris blinked at Matthew in irritation. "I don't know, sir."   
Matthew blinked back, no less puzzled. "How old are you?" he asked hesitantly, and Chris swallowed before slowly saying:   
"I don't know, sir."   
"How can you not know something like that?" one of the slaves muttered quietly.   
"It doesn't matter.", Chris replied slowly, guessing that Matthew was about to ask the same question. Matthew raised his eyebrows, glanced at the man next to him, and asked:   
"Who escaped with you? Where are they now?"  
"Max, Jonas, Joshua and Conrad. Jonas and Conrad went off in another direction pretty soon. Joshua is dead. Max... Max, too. Sir." Now Chris did lower his eyes. It had been such a downright _stupid_ idea. Hastily carried out at that. Conrad and Max had argued about direction, too, and then... everything had fallen apart.   
"Are there any special characteristics we can identify you with?"   
In response, Chris pulled aside the collar of his thermal undershirt and stroked a finger over the scar on his collarbone. "A fracture had to be repaired by surgery, sir, but my team and my overseer also know about my hearing issues."  
"What's your overseer's name?"   
"Melvin, sir."   
Matthew took a deep breath, then sighed just as deeply. "Doc Willers is coming in soon to take a look at you. Give him something to eat, guys. I hope someone picks him up tomorrow." There was a strange undertone in his voice that Chris couldn't interpret, but friendly it definitely wasn't.

~

Chris hadn't had a dinner this good since a new cooking slave was in charge of his housing unit. The headache still throbbed behind his forehead, dizziness came over him every now and then, but basically he just sat on the bed to which he was tied, listening to the TV, from which he saw only a colorful flicker, and waited.  
It must have been late when Matthew came in again and shooed the others out with a critical look. Chris involuntarily wondered what position he held here. An overseer? No, certainly more, considering the absence of his collar. Perhaps the mistress's son? Or even her lover? That was troubling.   
When the slaves had left, the other man entered, in his company was a woman who looked stern. Immediately Chris lowered his eyes to the floor.   
"I'm sorry it got so late," she said. "Any abnormalities, other than the already damaged hearing?"   
"Not that I know of," Matthew replied quietly. "He's been eating, drinking..."   
"Good, untie him."   
The shackle was untied.   
"Stand up and look at me." the woman, Doc Willers, said, and Chris obeyed. She eyed him critically, shining a tiny flashlight into his eyes and feeling the bump on his head and along his neck. "Does anything hurt?"   
"No, miss," he whispered. She asked more questions which he could barely answer at the speed they tumbled out of her mouth. "A mild concussion," she finally diagnosed.   
"Good." Matthew nodded and then the three of them left the room.

Chris stayed behind alone and just stood there for quite a while. He needed to pee, but he didn't know if he was even allowed to move around freely. Maybe Matthew had just forgotten to tie him back up. Would anyone even hear him if he asked a question now?   
But at that moment the older man came back, who had not spoken a word the whole time before. Now he grimaced contemptuously.   
"You're lucky you didn't harm a hair on my son's head, Steel. Come along." Matthew's father, then, and yet the son seemed to be in charge.  
Chris followed him down a dark hallway and then was pushed through a door.   
"You may go this far alone. All other doors are locked."   
It was a tiled room with two toilet stalls and two urinals, and because he was almost certain Matthew's father wouldn't let him out of his sight, he stepped up to one of the urinals.   
"Interesting cage." the man remarked, and Chris blinked in irritation.   
"Sir?"   
The man stepped closer while Chris shook off the last drop. He reached for Chris' dick, ran his thumb over the leather straps, groped Chris' balls, and frowned. "There's no lock."   
In response, Chris pulled his shirt up a little, revealing the long strap connecting the leather cage to his leather collar- front and back.   
"Oh... no metal... no rivets... because of the heat, right?"   
"Yes, sir." Chris nodded, not a bit surprised when the man reached around him and traced his fingers along the leather strap down between his buttocks. In the dim lighting of the room, he could see it glistening in the other's eyes- probably it was only the fact that Chris belonged to a foreign mistress that kept him from following his legible desire.

~

The night was lonely and silent. Too silent. In the steel mill he shared a room with three of his comrades and no matter where you were, you could always hear the sounds of working. Here... there was nothing.   
In between, he imagined he could hear the snoring of one of the slaves, who probably had their sleeping quarters just a few doors down, but he wasn't sure.

The slaves roused him from his restless dozing, clattering dishes and cutlery, a machine humming and gurgling. There was little talking, and when there was, it was muffled.   
He sat down on the bed, wrapped himself in the blanket and watched them with his head down. No one paid any attention to him. Only when the first two had gone did one of the others come to him, a small bowl in his hand.   
"Here," he said shyly, "your breakfast." A narrow smile flashed on his roundish face.   
"Thanks.", Chris mumbled back, accepting the bowl. It was a tiny portion of some kind of porridge, with darker and lighter blobs floating in it, falling heavily from the spoon. Bravely he tasted it and was surprised to find that it was sweetish; some of the bits turned out to be nuts. And then he understood why the portion was so small: the stuff was incredibly filling, and he almost had to choke down the last spoonful.   
In the meantime, the slaves had all gone to work and he was alone again. Slowly he got up, rinsed out the bowl in the sink, and then drank a little water before sitting back on the bed and waiting.

~

He had dozed off, because he winced when Matthew touched him. The shock caused his ears to start buzzing again, but it was quiet enough that he heard Matthew.   
"Come on."   
So he followed Matthew upstairs and up to the upper floor, his eyes on the wooden ground; sunlight danced on it from time to time. Finally, Matthew knocked on a door, opened it and then pushed Chris through.   
"Ah, Chris." a thin female voice said, and immediately he dropped to his knees.   
"Miss." he said humbly. She had to be the mistress here, he had entered her grounds unasked, threatened a member of her household...   
"Oh my goodness..." she said strangely surprised.   
"What did Miss Grayson say?", Matthew wanted to know, and she sighed.   
"To make a long story short: Chris is going to do eighteen months of amends."   
"Excuse me?"   
Chris tensed involuntarily at the disrespectful tone.   
"I've been running my mouth for three hours, Matty, and anything else only a lawyer could have sorted out."   
"I don't want him here!"   
"I know that. But you can't change it. Tomorrow the papers will come by courier."   
"Maggie, we-"   
"I know. Do you want to get a lawyer involved?"   
"For fuck's sake!" Matthew growled in lieu of a real answer, and Chris slumped a little. So he would serve here on the farm? For eighteen months? Eighteen was more than twelve, twelve months had a year... And then he'd have to go back to the steel mill. Without Max. Suddenly he got a slap on the back of the head.   
"Were you listening?" Matthew growled at him.   
"I'll be serving the Miss eighteen months at the farm," he replied, nodding at that.   
"Mistress." she corrected him gently. "As long as you serve here, I am your mistress."  
"Yes, mistress. I beg your pardon, Mistress."   
"See that he gets a proper collar."  
"Sure... Stand up."   
Chris rose, bowed deep in the direction from which his new mistress' voice had come, and then followed Matthew back through the house to the basement.

In some sort of office they stopped and without warning Matthew pulled Chris' pants down.   
"How do you take this thing off?"   
"You cut the straps, sir."   
"But..." Puzzled, Matthew looked up at him- he was almost a head shorter- and Chris indicated a shrug.   
"Once a year, we replace the system."   
Now Matthew made a small sound of disgust and hurriedly looked for a pair of scissors.   
Once Chris was free of the leather straps, Matthew put a new collar on him- black, thick as a finger, and surprisingly heavy- along with a silver cage- also surprisingly heavy, but shiny silver. Finally, he pulled his pants back up and met Matthew's gaze- his eyes shone like polished steel under his black brows.   
"Sir...?" he asked hesitantly, because after a moment the look became eerie.   
" _Master_ ", Matthew corrected him coldly.   
"Yes, Master. I-" A hard grip on his jaw interrupted him.   
"I swear to you, Chris, if you make even one unauthorized move, you will bitterly regret it."   
"Yes, Master." he mumbled. Maybe Max and Conrad had been wrong, maybe the world outside the steel mill wasn't that much better.


	3. Essential Question

For a very long, very uncomfortable moment, Matthew scowled at Chris, then turned away. "You need clothes..." he grumbled, reaching into an open shelf; to Chris's surprise, he pulled out Chris's clothes. "Put them on."   
"Yes, Master." He took the clothes, and as he placed them on the floor and then unfolded the heavy protective trousers, Matthew reached for a phone. A moment later he said:   
"Maggie, call the Mitchells and- Great Mother, I know that! Chris needs clothes and Blaise and Frank should have the same size."   
Chris slipped into his clothes with practiced movements. He wasn't sure what it meant that Matthew held the rank of a Master here, but the harsh tone toward a woman- his own matriarch, moreover- caused Chris discomfort.   
"I don't care _how_ you do it, but he can't wear the same briefs for eighteen months! And no, that's _your_ job." Defiant, almost bitter, was not only Matthew's voice, but also his gaze, and Chris immediately lowered his eyes back to the floor. "Come."   
Chris followed him out into the hallway; the silence here in the house made him nervous.   
"You don't enter the office unless you're told to," Matthew began coolly. "You know the common room and the restrooms; there are the showers. The room beyond that is the laundry room, and on the other side is your pantry. Here," they started moving, "are the sleeping quarters. I'll put you in with the brothers; that's probably the least dangerous."   
"Yes, Master." Chris said, nodding, though Matthew didn't see it. On the doors to the bedrooms were colorful posters like children would draw, and there were letters on them- presumably the names of those who lived there. In passing, Matthew tapped on one of the doors- there was a squirrel on the poster- and Chris assumed that was where he would sleep from now on.

The hallway ended at a concrete staircase and at the end of it, there was a door leading outside.   
Deeply inhaling the cold clean air, Chris admired the sparkle of sunshine on the snow for a moment, then looked around. The farmhouse behind him seemed huge, and he had no name for all the buildings scattered in the nearby grounds, but he would probably learn it soon. He heard animal sounds- sheep, probably- and men's voices, the crunch of snow under his boots sounding non-threatening for the first time in what seemed like ages.   
"In the morning you'll work with the others," Matthew said thoughtfully. "Take care of the animals and so on. In the afternoon, you'll come with me."   
"Yes, Master." He knew animals only from the documentaries they were allowed to watch on television and from the picture books of his childhood.   
"Stick with Armand."   
"Yes, Master." Whoever Armand was. But Chris didn't ask the question aloud, instead silently followed Matthew while he explained, as suspected, what he was seeing and where, and how he was allowed to move. Just as the thought occurred to him that a slave here could easily just disappear without being noticed, Matthew's smug tone caught his attention.   
"That workshop over there is where I work normally when I'm not in the office. I'll show you how to use tools like wrenches _properly_."   
For a moment Chris stared at him, his mind blank, before he murmured: "Yes, Master." That workshop… Max had died there. And he- Chris- was supposed to work there. A bitter punishment, but probably fitting. The all-drowning roar filled his ears, joined on the right by a whistle causing him to grimace. He saw Matthew frown, but then turn away as if he had been called; Chris also turned his head and saw Matthew's father coming toward them.   
The two exchanged a few words, then the father continued toward the house while the son looked at Chris again with a scowl. In the steel mill, verbal communication was often impossible anyway because of the noise, so they communicated with simple hand signals- Conrad had told him that there was a real sign language, for deaf or mute- but here no one would know what to do with it.   
Just as the situation was getting really awkward, there was a pop, and Chris sighed with relief.   
"Mine and Maggie's orders are top priority," Matthew said, as if the interruption in his explanations had never occurred. "But you will follow the orders of Charles, our father, as well as Uncle Robert's, just the same. As long as it's about the morning's work, Armand's instructions as well."   
Chris had stumbled over the _'our father'_ while listening and hastily said, "Yes Master," before thinking of Mistress Maggie and her thin voice. The old and sick-sounding woman was supposed to be Matthew's sister, the mistress and matriarch of this farm? He could hardly believe it.

Silently they walked a little further, more in the direction from which Chris and Max had come, and now in the daylight he noticed that the terrain here became very slightly hilly.   
"Over there," Matthew said abruptly, pointing in one direction, "is the Mitchells' farm, and there," he pointed in the opposite direction, "is the Abbermills'. Across the road from us, on the other side, live the Stones." He paused and eyed Chris. "Considering how far Westshire is from here, one might almost have a little respect."   
Chris hesitated, then asked quietly: "Where exactly is this farm, Master?"   
Matthew pointed in the Abbermill direction. "Townsend is about twenty minutes away by car. But you don't have to get any ideas, your collar has a GPS transmitter."   
"A... what?" Irritated, Chris looked at him, a little skeptically he looked back.   
"The normal collars send out a signal. A corresponding receiver can tell someone where you are to within five meters. A simple leather collar..." He didn't finish the sentence, but Chris understood what he was trying to say. With a collar like this, the thought of escape was pointless, but such a collar would probably not have survived the temperatures under the protective clothing well in the long run, and would probably have been very uncomfortable to wear.   
"Thank you, Master," Chris said, lowering his eyes. Not that he had thought of another escape, but any knowledge of this world out here was valuable.

They returned to the house and Matthew gestured for him to leave his jacket and boots on a coat rack next to the entrance; above the hooks were again letters, probably indicating the hook's owner.   
"Go into the common room. The others are making lunch now. I'll come back for you afterwards. ... I think."   
"Yes, Master."   
With long strides Matthew walked away and considerably slower Chris walked to the common room. At the kitchen counter, two guys- one of them was the round-faced one who had brought Chris breakfast- were cutting something into small pieces.   
"Hi.", Chris said quietly and the conversations died down, all eyes turned to him. And two heartbeats later, he was ignored.   
"No, man! You saw that move, right? That guy's got it, really got it!" a man with tousled brown hair said cheerfully, as if Chris' interruption hadn't happened, and his counterpart, a guy with black hair and jug ears, sighed.   
"I still think there are better ones."   
"Not in this league."   
Chris swallowed dryly and took a few steps toward the kitchen corner. "Can I help you guys?"   
"Can you cook?" the guy with glasses asked back.   
"No. But I'd like to make myself useful."   
The guy grimaced as if he were in pain, but the other said quietly:   
"Come on, Theo, if he just sits around and does nothing, sooner or later the others will complain."   
Theo adjusted his glasses with the back of his hand- Chris thought the small knife in his hand came dangerously close to his nose in the process- and sighed. "Probably right. Grab those two pots there and fill them with water."

In the end, Chris didn't do much more than stir sauce for pasta in a big pot, but he watched what Theo and Zack- the one with the round face- were doing and decided to learn and actually make himself useful. At lunch, it was mostly the tousle-headed one- Willem- who seemed to be chattering away without pause for breath. There were other names thrown around, but Chris didn't always quite get who they were referring to, and he definitely wasn't the only outsider. There was a teenager with a long blond braid- Doug? Dirk? Derek?- who was sitting in a corner with a scowl on his face, and in the short time of lunch he was making only two remarks, but for each of them he got a slap in the face from the oldest slave- with already gray temples and cheeks full of acne scars. Just as the others were about to leave, Matthew came in and gave Chris a quick glance.   
"I have to go over to the Braddocks with Robert, their snow blower has given up the ghost. If I'm not back soon, Pa will check on Chris."   
"All right!" someone called out, and Chris said, hopefully loud enough to be heard:   
"Yes, Master." He would just have to wait here, it seemed.

~

In one corner hung a clock and soon Chris wished he hadn't discovered it. The hands crept along slowly, infinitely slowly, and not daring to use the things here without real permission, he sat on the couch and waited. Outside it was getting dark, once or twice he heard voices in the hallway because someone might be getting things or something, but otherwise there was nothing but the oppressive silence until Charles appeared. The heavy boot steps made Chris look up and he shuddered under Charles' gaze. His eyes were as steel gray as Matthew's and seemed to bore into Chris.   
Awaiting instructions, he rose. "... Sir?"   
"So, Steel... I take it you haven't been taught much that would be useful here." His voice was raspy, as if he'd been yelling a lot today.   
"I suppose not, sir," Chris returned, unsure if a response was even expected.   
Charles eyed him and Chris could watch the hungry expression from last night return to his eyes; he knew that expression pretty well from the overseers at the steel mill. After a moment Charles reached into his pants pocket and closed his fist around something inside, involuntarily Chris wondered what it might be, but with the sparkle in Charles' eyes he would probably find out soon.   
"Did they teach you how to take a dick?" The words fell suddenly and heavily from Charles' mouth, but surprised Chris only in the sense that Charles apparently felt it necessary to ask the question at all.   
"Yes, sir," he said quietly. He had not long moved from the nursery to the steel mill itself, being barely a teenager, when one of the overseers first made his way into him with the help of the ever-popular liquid soap. Some of them even managed to make it feel somewhat good.   
Charles licked his lips, nodded, and then began to smile mockingly. "Well, I guess I found the perfect job for you then, Steel."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel always free to leave your thoughts :)


	4. A dubious Dessert

To be honest, Chris hadn't expected anything else. But before anything happened in consequence, Charles sent him to the bathroom to shave the scrub off his face and then to the shower - both of which he admittedly needed very much. Charles watched him doing this, and as he dried off, a suspicious bulge was already forming in Charles' pants.   
"Get your things and come with me," he said roughly, and Chris nodded. The air was cool, almost cold on his bare skin and he shivered. The small room to which Charles led him seemed all the warmer, and its purpose was quite clear. A large bed with an ornate metal frame, next to it a nightstand on which stood a penis-shaped bottle- again, the purpose was not hard to guess- and in one corner a small dresser. The door slammed shut and Charles gave a strange grunt; Chris glanced over his shoulder and saw Charles pulling a small key from his pocket.  
"If you want to come, take care of it yourself," he said, and to Chris' amazement took the new cage from him. Following this, Charles undressed and Chris' gaze involuntarily wandered over his body: thickly covered in hair, not a bit of fat over hard muscle, and for the rather small stocky figure, one hell of a big privates. Just above the base of his penis was a tattoo, a flower perhaps, but Charles grunted:   
"On the bed, on your knees."   
Chris obeyed and still turned his head a little, half watching Charles take a condom from the nightstand- a rarity in the steel mill- and squeeze lube into his hand from the penis bottle. Then the bed shook and a warm hand settled on Chris's hip.   
"Let's see..." A thick finger, smeared with cold lube, pushed into him and he grunted quietly. A knee nudged against the back of his thigh. "Wider apart." He had barely obeyed when a second finger joined in, eliciting a groan from him as Charles seemed to spread the fingers, which was exceedingly uncomfortable. And then the fingers were gone. In exchange, Charles' dick tip was now pressing against his entrance, his fingers clawing into the sheet as Charles pressed into him with insistence and two short hard thrusts later was balls-deep in him. They both groaned, albeit at different paces. Then he got a smack on his right ass cheek, which hurt in equal measure as it was loud.  
"Comfortable.", Charles remarked mockingly, and went for it.

Charles moved completely differently than Chris was used to from the overseers, but admittedly the position was also new to him. Normally the act - which Max had vehemently refused to call sex all these years - took place in some corner, usually in the bathroom, propped against the wall or perhaps bent over something, hastily and unpredictably, without any preparation. But most likely Charles was less concerned with a real demonstration of power than actually with his pleasure, because by the time he let out the first lustful moan, considerably more time had passed than na overseer normally needed.   
But what was also new was the warm sensation spreading through Chris' belly, which grew stronger as Charles' hand traveled from his waist up his back and pushed his torso down; he let himself sink from his hands onto his forearms, gasping for air as Charles lowered himself half onto him. Charles was breathing hard, the rhythm of his thrusts changed, and Chris winced as a hand reached for his own dick.   
"Steel, huh? More like tinfoil..." Charles gasped and laughed breathlessly, letting go of Chris' soft dick and giving his balls a squeeze, which made him yelp. And yet... this felt so much better than the overseers. The warm sensation slowly seeped from his belly into his dick, which was also completely new- Charles abruptly thrust so hard that Chris almost toppled forward, a second and a third thrust, a long drawn-out guttural moan and it was over.  
 _Almost a shame_ , Chris mused, surprising himself with the thought.   
Charles pulled back and the bed shook violently; carefully Chris sat down and gave the older man a quick look. Breathing heavily and covered in a shiny sweat coat, he sat there weakly, rubbing his face with trembling fingers. "Oh Great Mother, I'm getting old," he muttered, then sighed. "I meant it, Steel. You may jerk off to it."   
"Maybe next time, sir," Chris murmured, feeling his cheeks grow warm. He'd never had an orgasm before, because he'd always been too cowardly to wriggle out of the leather cage mesh the way Max and others regularly did. Had done.   
Charles snorted, almost amused; that there would be a next time was out of the question. "Get dressed and go to the common room."

~

_'You can get anyone, if you use the right tone of voice,'_ Conrad had said at one point, and with Zack, submissive pleading appealed. Chris had a feeling the little roundish guy was afraid of him, but nonetheless he patiently showed him how to cut an onion. Theo made annoyed noises more than once, while Willem and the guy with the jug ears made fun of him. The blond boy tried a mocking remark as well, but got slapped in the face for it- Chris would have liked to know why he was treated so aggressively, but he had more pressing problems for the moment. That damn slippery onion, for example.   
"Guys..."   
He had been so focused that he didn't notice Charles' appearance until now. Grinning broadly, he played with a small bunch of keys.   
"Want to join us for dinner?" Theo asked, adjusting his glasses.   
"No..."   
"It's not wash day." the old slave remarked critically, and Charles' grin, if possible, grew even wider.   
"No."   
So those were the cage keys, then. Chris had been sent out of the room without a cage and he had already wondered about that, but now he could suddenly feel the mood change and goosebumps crept along his arms.   
"We're having dessert tonight," Charles announced, tossing the bunch of keys onto the table. "You have until midnight, after which I'll check your panties."   
Someone laughed quietly and Chris really shuddered now. Seven slaves lived here in the workers' quarters and midnight was a long way off.   
"Well, I'd rather have chocolate pudding." sighed Zack and there was laughter in several voices. Chris saw in the faces a wild mix of emotions he'd rather not sort out.   
"I doubt Maggie will find this very amusing..." Theo muttered, adjusting his glasses anew.   
"She doesn't have to know _everything_." the guy with the golden blond curls said coolly in Theo's direction; Chris thought he was downright handsome.   
"Does Matthew at least know about this?", Theo continued to ask, and while Goldilocks' face screwed up a little, Charles growled:   
"My children really don't need to know everything."   
Chris shuddered again and felt eyes turn to him. For a moment there was silence.   
"See you at midnight, huh? Well, twice should be in," Jug Ear said, and Charles grinned.   
"Leave some for the others, Patrick."   
"Yeah, yeah..." Patrick rose and grabbed the bunch of keys while Willem said:   
"You know what they say about the factory workers, Charles. They know how to work hard and persevere."   
The old slave, Patrick, and Goldilocks, too, laughed spitefully.   
"Will, don't..." Zack asked quietly, but Willem rolled his eyes.   
"Just look at that guy, little brother. Even if you two don't want to, he can take us easily."   
Theo snorted. "Let them, Zack, they'll see what they get out of it."   
"What is?"   
"A disappointed mistress."   
"Oh..." Zack gave Chris an almost pitying look and he put the onion knife aside. Patrick, meanwhile, had removed his cage and Charles tapped his temple with two fingers.   
"Bon appetit."

~

A few minutes later, Chris was back on all fours on the bed. Patrick was like the overseers: hard and fast, as if it was a matter of taking as little time as possible. His fingers dug painfully into Chris' hips while his panting became more and more frantic. He came with a cry which sounded more like pain than pleasure, and hastily withdrew afterwards.   
"I think," he gasped, "you might as well stay here." His mouth twisted into a wry grin. "There's never been an offer like that around here."   
Chris, who had just sat up, grimaced, and Patrick's grin disappeared. Swaying slightly, he got to his feet and patted Chris hard on the head.   
"Get used to it, Steel. Hella's got her eye on you."   
He had that feeling, too.   
Only half dressed, Patrick was already opening the door where Goldilocks stood. "Go ahead..."   
"Armand, wait." the old slave said from the background, and Goldilocks half-turned as Patrick pushed past him.  
"What is it?" he growled unwillingly.  
"If you go in there now, you'll hurt him, and you certainly don't want Matthew to know that."   
So this was _Armand_ Chris was supposed to be working with? The handsome guy whose narrow face was framed by golden curls and whose blue eyes flashed just so angrily? _Great._   
"Gaspar, I-"  
"You know I'm right," Gaspar insisted, and his scarred face appeared in the doorway. Chris shuddered as the two engaged in an eye duel.   
"What am I going to do with him if he's just going to lie there after everyone else?" spat Armand finally, and Gaspar grabbed him by the shirt.   
"Do you know what happens when you provoke him and he fights back? No? Neither do I, but I know for a fact that no one here wants this to make waves. Get a grip. For Matthew."   
Armand broke away and Chris almost expected him to spit at Gaspar's feet, but he controlled himself and walked away. In return, Gaspar entered the room and pushed the door shut behind him. The click sounded strangely decisive. Chris, still sitting motionless on the bed, looked up at him.   
"Thank you." he said tonelessly, but Gaspar shook his head.  
"I'm just protecting Armand from himself. He's more hot-headed than is good for him."   
They looked at each other. Chris felt strangely empty, like he did at meetings where he was nothing more than a name on a list.   
"Do you know how to ride?" Gaspar's words snapped him back to naked reality- Gaspar was already unzipping his pants.   
"No.", Chris answered simply and was surprised when Gaspar started to smile.   
"For you guys it's _up against the wall and pants down_ , isn't it?" His pants and underpants slid down.   
Chris nodded.   
Invitingly, Gaspar pointed to the wall. "Well then, let's do just that." The smile in his eyes faded and his lips twisted into a sneer. "Make you feel right at home."

~

Dinner was really delicious, but Chris had to choke down every bite. There were Armand's hateful stares, Zack's nervous shrill voice, Willem's annoying chatter, and Gaspar's hand continuously groping him on the thigh or right in the crotch.  
Chris had barely put down his fork when the teen announced:   
"Now it's my turn."   
"Take it easy, kid, me first." said Willem, pulling him by the braid, which looked rather painful.   
"Leave him.", Gaspar said sternly and surprised Willem let go.   
"What, but why?"   
"Kids have to go to bed early."   
"Asshole." the boy growled, standing up and slapping Chris hard on the shoulder.   
Chris rose and perforce followed him into the room.   
"I'm Derek.", Derek said and sat down on the bed, but immediately jumped back up and pulled down his pants.   
"Hi.", Chris said dumbly and Derek smiled sheepishly before sitting down again.   
"Do you know how to give head?"   
Chris shrugged. "Not really."   
"Hmm. They're just fucking you there, huh?"   
Now he nodded.   
"Hmm. Try it anyway."   
So Chris knelt down and took Derek's dick in his mouth. Carefully he sucked and licked it, and he couldn't be that bad, because Derek got hard in a frenzy and came so fast that Chris was a little caught off guard, because the boy didn't make a single sound.   
"Thanks..." he then said a little slurred. "Wasn't so bad..."   
Wiping spit from his chin and cursing at the taste in his mouth, Chris looked at him. "You know how to do it right?"   
The answer, at first, was a big grin. "It's not that hard. But if you really want to experience a good blowjob, stick with Armand." Derek rose to his feet and pulled up his pants. "You should start taking your clothes off..."   
Chris sighed. Midnight was still a long time away.

Patrick took a second turn, which prompted loud protests from Willem, who wanted his first turn in the first place; he was just as hectic as he had been the first time.   
For Willem, Chris was told to lie flat on his stomach, which was at first uncomfortable and then actually quite nice, as Chris's trapped dick became semi-hard and the gentle friction against the sheet felt good. Willem was loud here too, though, and all the time, as if he was going to come at any moment.   
Now that Chris was already lying down, Gaspar mounted him the same way Willem did- his much more powerful thrusts shook Chris and the bed and Chris got fully hard. It was a strange feeling, accompanied by a tingling sensation down to his toes and an urgent desire to touch himself. However, his ass was starting to feel sore and both body and mind, still feeling overrun from recent events, were in desperate need of rest. But there was still Armand.   
After Gaspar finished, Chris rolled onto his side, propped himself up on one elbow, and saw Gaspar and Armand exchange a long glance in the doorway.   
Armand entered and slammed the door. He had pushed back his curls with a metal hairband and now Chris noticed that an orange-red ribbon was wound around his slave collar. Wordlessly he stripped off his clothes, nearly tugged them off his body. "What are you staring at, you fucker?" he hissed, and Chris gulped.   
"You're beautiful." he blurted out, and Armand laughed bitterly.   
"Shut the fuck up."   
"I-" Something about Armand unsettled Chris, but he couldn't put it into words. He thought he was decidedly pretty, but after what he had heard earlier, he was a little worried about what Armand was going to do. First of all, he came to the bed and Chris stared again, but this time at the tattoo. A purple shaded raceme of grapes sat on his right inner thigh, vines snaking up over his hip and down to his knee.   
"Stop staring at me!" He emphasized each word with iciness. "You flat-headed whore hurt Matthew and-"   
"I didn't," Chris interrupted him, surprising himself again. Normally he didn't contradict. "Max did-"   
"It's easy to blame the dead," Armand said spitefully, and began rubbing himself hard; Chris couldn't help but look. "But you know what? I don't care which one of you did it. You're here now. And it's definitely you Matthew wants to take in the afternoon. On your back." His words were a hiss and Chris slid around hastily, almost immediately Armand got on the bed and pushed Chris's knees apart so fast and wide it stretched his muscles. "This is my place." hissed Armand and Chris asked irritated:   
"What, here in bed?" He didn't see the punch in the stomach coming. Groaning, he cringed; Armand had probably been referring more to working with Matthew.   
Roughly, Armand pushed one of Chris's knees aside and then slid effortlessly into him. "Don't stare at me like that!" He moved with strange undulating motions, fluid and smooth, and Chris tried hard not to look at him, but did so out of the corner of his eye. Then Armand's rage-distorted features relaxed, and as his eyelids fluttered closed and his mouth formed a small o, Chris' blood rushed to his midsection. As rough as Armand's demeanor might have been, this was anything but rough, in fact it was almost gentle. He bent over, leaning forward, resting one hand next to Chris' ribcage, the other directly on his ribs.   
With the next thrust, Chris lifted his hips a little and Armand moaned, apparently completely oblivious to his surroundings. But a moan escaped Chris as well - why did it suddenly feel so good, so right?- and his hand slid to his dick, which was hard and hot. Almost reverently, he touched himself, sliding his hand along his balls and finally touching Armand with his fingertips as he slid in and out of him. Armand moaned and bit his lower lip. Carefully, Chris stroked Armand's abdomen, feeling the muscles under the skin work and twitch and how the rhythm behind them changed. Armand's hot breath was now hitting Chris' chest, there was a loud guttural sigh and into the sudden thought of why Chris had never actually touched Max like that, even though he had offered it to him several times, Armand made an almost agonized sound. His whole body twitched and then he half collapsed on Chris.   
"Oh fuck..." he whispered. He threatened to slide off Chris, and Chris tried to hold him, but he jerked back and hissed: "Don't you touch me! Don't ever touch me again!" He stood up so hastily and got off the bed that he stumbled and had to hold onto the wall. "You're nothing but a steel mill whore! You're nothing and you can't do anything and Matthew should send you away!" he burst out, gasping for breath.   
Chris' erection disappeared as quickly as it had come. "Matthew doesn't want me here at all!" he returned, sitting up; although he hadn't actually done anything, everything suddenly hurt. But Armand said nothing in reply, just gave him a deadly look before taking his things and leaving the room naked- the condom slipping slowly off his twitching dick.   
Equal parts stunned and unsettled, Chris looked after him.

"Hey..." Suddenly Zack appeared in the doorway.   
"Do you want too?" asked Chris tiredly, but Zack hastily shook his head.  
"No. No, I really don't. But... we're all going to bed now." He reached out and held out the new cage to Chris. "Charles said to put it back on. And then... um, well, you'll sleep with us now..."   
Chris nodded and got unsteadily to his feet, feeling dizzy for a moment. He accepted the cage and put it on with uncertain movements before slipping into his long underwear and then walking down the hall with Zack.   
Patrick and Derek were arguing loudly about the bedding, in the shower room Gaspar stood drying himself off, next to a narrow closet in the hallway Theo stood rummaging around in it. As Chris passed him, he was handed a toothbrush.   
"Here, so you don't kill us tomorrow with your bad breath."   
"Thanks.", Chris mumbled and continued trotting after Zack to the room with the squirrel. Two double bunk beds stood in it, and at a tiny sink in one corner Willem stood brushing his teeth.   
"That one," Zack said, pointing to one of the lower ones. "Theo was afraid that... well he didn't want you sleeping upstairs." The metal braces of the beds didn't look very sturdy, and Chris must have been 20kg heavier than the slender tall Theo.   
He nodded and waited patiently until the three brothers finished brushing their teeth before stepping up to the sink himself. The angular face staring back at him from the dirty mirror didn't mean much to him; hair and eye color didn't matter. He could tell that time was passing by the horizontal line on his forehead, which by now did not disappear when he slept for a few hours, but even that was meaningless. He was a tool operating the blast furnace, and had been given the name _Chris_ to distinguish him from other tools of the same kind. And here, where there was no furnace....  
He stared into the dark blue eyes of his reflection, heard Willem and Theo discussing in the background, and felt completely empty. He was a name, a commodity- not an individual personality like the men here. Mechanically, he finished brushing his teeth and then turned away, meeting Willem's mocking gaze.   
"Want to go again?"   
Willem's fine smile vanished. "Are you kidding?"   
"It's not midnight yet."   
"Dude, Charles already had us put the cages back on. We're going to bed with our panties dutifully filled."   
Chris merely shrugged and sat down on his sleeping place, Willem staring at him.  
"You're really nothing but a steel mill whore, huh?"   
"I'm a tool," Chris objected quietly, turning to the wall and pulling the covers up to his chin.


End file.
